


Bulletproof

by rightonthelimit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal, Blood, Breathplay, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Fingering, Gore, Horror, M/M, Mindfuck, Oral, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, mild bloodplay, psycho!Harry, slutty!Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-17
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-12 08:47:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/488992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a vampire doesn't walk, but casually throws himself into Tom's world, Tom fears that death is coming for him much too soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Been There, Done That, Messed Around

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost, recreate or translate. Thank you!

**A/N:** Please do not repost, recreate or translate. Thank you!

 **Summary:** When a vampire doesn't walk, but casually throws himself into Tom's world, Tom fears that death is coming for him much too soon.

 **Warnings:** Alternative universe, gore, magic, slutty!Harry, psycho!Harry, vampire!Harry, mentions of cannibalism, sexual content such as (but not limited to) dirty talk, fingering, anal, oral, breathplay, dub/con, blood kink

**Bulletproof**

Chapter 1

_**'Been There, Done That, Messed Around'** _

Tom Marvolo Riddle was 25 years old when his life would change for good. It was a respectable, decent age - old enough to classify him as an adult, young enough to still have him considered a prodigy by his older peers.

The change came to him like a storm, on a seemingly cloudless day. Life had been good for Tom Riddle and to see everything go to hell so fast was dizzying, not to mention terrifying. The events rushed over him like a tidal wave and it only left him with two choices: drowning or learning how to adapt to the current and swim to a new, unexplored shore.

Tom Riddle was nothing short of a survivor and this too, he told himself, would and could never destroy him.

None of Tom's earthly possessions mattered to this force of nature; there was nothing in this world that would help him put a stop to it all. Perhaps that was exactly what he needed all along - a challenge, someone who could actually install fear within him and remind him just fragile human life really could be. Everything he had carefully built up was shattered by one mere chance encounter yet at the end of it all, Tom couldn't tell you if it had been for better or worse.

His storm had come to him in the shape of a mere teenage boy with bright green eyes, a thin short frame and clothes always a size too large for his body. He would have been someone who had caught Tom's eye, someone who would seem innocence itself, yet in all of his human years Tom had learned that the devil came in many shapes and forms.

He had just never expected to get so close.

* * *

Summer had passed with utmost haste, as had Fall, and it was a cold night in mid-November when Tom was staring at the ceiling with his chest heaving up and down, sweat on his brow and his quivering lips dry. It was a vulnerable state no one ever saw him in, one he was a bit too familiar with.

It had been exactly three am when he had awoken. He needn't look at a clock to know this - every night he woke up like this at the exact same hour for as long as he could remember. His nights were never dreamless and his body was well-accustomed to the lack of proper sleep. Not even sleeping pills could stop the violent nightmares.

Tom’s bedroom was dark and clothes were strewn over the floor, the sky utterly black from what Tom could see through the slim sliver of space between his curtains. The moon was pale, as was Tom’s skin, yet the only difference between the two of them was that the moon was eternal. It was a confronting observation that filled Tom with resentment.

Rain wasn’t tapping on the windowpanes ominously, in fact, there was nothing in the world that could possibly be out of place except for the body resting next to him. He vaguely attempted to remember the name of the male if only to calm his mind and force out the mental images that always seemed to haunt him whenever he closed his eyes.

_A gaping stab wound in his chest, blood utterly pouring out of him. A distant voice calling for him, demanding his release, dying in the distance... Smoke... Fire... Crosses and murmured prayers..._

Tom’s curse was soft, barely audible, syllables slipping over his lips. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and ran a hand through his hair. The room smelt of earlier activities and he ought to open the window but he didn't want to tear himself out of his bed just yet, if only so he may luxuriate in the sheets a little longer.

As he started recounting the day, the images slowly started fading away, slipping like smoke through his fingers. Never had he remembered faces or names from his nightmares; it were always the emotions that left him so heavily affected. The smell of smoke and death lingered in his nostrils as though he would forever carry it within his very soul.

The body next to him moved a bit and Tom’s hands dropped from his face, breaths evened out somewhat. 

He glanced at the male.

Tom had picked him up at the local bar because Tom had way too much tension in his body and the only good way to get rid of it was to, simply put, dominate another person. Personal details weren’t something Tom had cared for. The boy looked good and knew how to give head, and that’s all that had mattered to Tom.

Still, there was a sense of something amiss whenever someone touched him, something inside of him which became angry, the thought of  _notyoursneveryoursyou’renotgoodenoughI’mnotcompletewithanyonebut-_ always overwhelming him. Tom ignored it, naturally, because it was completely irrational; he was single and happily so. He liked freedom.

He just couldn't comprehend why he felt incomplete. He was a smart man and he should know better. They were just emotions.

Emotions weren’t reliable.

‘Hmm, what time is it?’ the boy next to him asked, sleepily lifting his head as he finally awakened. His eyes glimmered in the darkness and Tom licked his lips.

‘Around three,’ he answered without looking at a clock. They had slept little over an hour and Tom hoped the boy would leave his house soon. He wanted to shower – he felt dirty. He didn’t like having people in his home and he usually didn’t bring them here but he had been persuaded by his own desires and impatience. The blonde had followed him willingly.

His need to control and bend someone to his will had clouded Tom's judgement.

The boy yawned and nodded (or at least Tom thought he did) and Tom watched as the other pushed himself up. Tom leaned over the bed and flicked the lamp on, blinking a bit as he tried to adjust to the sudden assault on his eyes. The blonde looked at him and grinned sleepily.

‘You’re really hot,’ he commented, and Tom’s eyebrow rose at that.

‘You take the time to properly look at me  _now_?’ He asked incredulously, another wave of disgust rolling over him. Thank God the blonde (Draco?) didn’t blush because Tom really wasn’t sure if he would have the patience to handle any awkward conversations right now. Draco grinned and shrugged, lifting the sheets rather carelessly off his body, completely and shamelessly aware of how he was exposing himself.

‘I don’t really judge that well when I’ve had a couple of drinks,’ he murmured, stumbling a bit and covered in Tom’s marks. It didn’t bring Tom a sense of satisfaction at all. Just hearing that Draco fucked pretty much anything that walked made him very glad they had the sense to use protection in the very least.

‘I should go, though. ‘t Was fun,’ Draco grinned at him when he finished picking his clothes from the floor and putting them back on. Tom started to rise, if only to ensure the other would really leave but Draco just shook his head.

‘Don’t bother,’ he said, ‘I’ll find my way out. See ya.’

Tom listened patiently as Draco called for a cab and only relaxed his body when he heard the front door shut and saw headlights on his driveway.

He didn’t even feel satisfied with sex anymore – always hungered for something else in the end. And what frustrated Tom most was that he didn’t know what he craved. He had done everything that was sinful, but it just never… Tom decided he needed something new. Something that would give him a rush of adrenaline, something that would… Give life meaning again. What was the point of having it all if it was so exceedingly boring? Tom always had to challenge himself, to keep things interesting and to keep life bearable. He ran a hand through his dark hair and frowned a bit to himself. 

Question was, what could Tom possibly do when at the moment he didn’t really have a goal? He had already done it all. He had successfully turned the family business into a blooming, profitable company. He had gone out to travel the world and witness other cultures. When it came to money or experience he seemed to have it all.

Tom was 25 years old and he was bored with the world for it couldn’t offer him anything he didn’t already have.

A huff escaped his lips as he lifted his hands above his head just to stare at them. They were good, capable hands - hands that had built a good life. Still he felt incomplete and it was entirely irrational. He was a wholesome person, perhaps a bit cruel at times... He closed his eyes and all he could see were green eyes. Green eyes, black hair, pale skin... Small hands...

When Tom blinked his eyes open again it was 6 am. Huh. Must’ve fallen asleep.

He stepped into the shower and felt water cascading down his body. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall, his hair sticking to his face. His body did most of the work for him like a well-oiled machine, hands scrubbing at his chest and then lathering his hair up with shampoo. The suds went down the drain with ease, his sore muscles warming up and relaxing under the hot pressure of the showerhead.

Behind his closed lids flashes of green appeared, and he had a strange taste in his mouth. Metallic, almost like…

He spat, but all that came out was saliva. Tom stared at the tiled floor and watched as his own spit washed down the drain, wondering if he was actually really losing it. Maybe his brilliant mind was attempting to come up with things in desperate attempts to keep Tom's senses sharp.

He snorted.

As if. 

 

 

* * *

‘Sir?’

Tom glanced up from where he had been typing a reply to an email to one of his business partners to see his secretary standing there, a brown box in her hands. It was just another day at the office, but then again every day tended to be the same old thing. Tom was growing tired of everything and everyone, becoming more irritiable by the minute.

‘Yes?’ Tom demanded. Being around people always had been hard for Tom. He never seemed to learn how to  _like_ someone, and the best he could manage was being polite when he needed to be. He just wasn't one for unnecessary interactions.  
  
He had been born alone, and he was to die alone as well. Might as well keep from making it any more difficult.  
  
Pansy bit her lip and then walked toward him, deeming it safe. She kept her eyes submissively glued to the floor. 

‘There was a delivery guy earlier and you were at your meeting… So I signed for this package for you.’ She placed it in front of Tom on his desk. The box wasn’t big, in fact it was probably smaller than most shoe boxes. Tom looked at it with a scowl. His name was written on it in a messy scrawl, along with the adress of his office building. Even his floor was written on it.  
  
Tom felt his lip curl up in distaste. The letters were big, almost obnoxious and shouty, so very unlike his own neat, tidy handwriting. Obviously this had been written by a man. Women rarely had handwritings like these and they were neater with packaging things. Just seeing the package like this made him entirely disinterested. He had half the heart to ask Pansy why she had the nerve to give this to him.

‘You may return to your desk,’ Tom dismissed. He eyed the box once more and then extended a hand to reach over.

Might as well get this over with.  
  
He was tempted to throw the box into his trash can but his curiosity got the best of him.

Tom sat the box down on his lap and stabbed his letter opener into it, moving it back and forth just a bit before he cut it open. It slid through the cardboard effortlessly and Tom folded the sides open, placing his letter opener on his desk again and peering inside.

Inside was a metal box with a silver lock on it, and an envelope was on top of it. Frowning, Tom reached out and touched it. The paper felt thick, almost like parchment, and it smelt vaguely of something familiar. From the feeling of it there was a letter and a small card in it, but Tom chose to ignore the latter in favor of opening the letter first. It was written in the same handwriting on the box.

_My dearest love,_

_You cannot possibly imagine the shock that gripped my heart the moment I laid eyes upon you after spending oceans of time in grief, convinced that I was destroyed beyond repair after your demise so many years ago._

_Here is to us, and that we shall meet once more soon. I will eagerly await your response._

_Ever yours mind, heart, body and soul,_

_Harrison_

_P.S.: You must be hungry after all these years and my love, I tend to take full care of you in every way possible now that I know you are in a weakened state. May my gifts be able to still some of your hunger._

There was no address attached to the note, no way that Tom could reply. Frowning, Tom took the key that was attached to the letter and he picked up the little metal box. It was a bit heavy and Tom didn’t know what to think of it.  Wouldn’t be the first time he had received a strange package.

He still ignored the plastic card and stuck the key into the lock, twisting it. When it opened, it was the smell that got to Tom first. It was the smell of death and blood and Tom had only smelt it once in his life before, but it was a scent that one would never forget. Feeling his eyebrows draw together in disgust, he pushed up the lid and the smell spread. His own body froze completely when he caught sight of the contents of the box.

In it was an eyeball, its iris a light shade of grey and its nerve endings still attached, and a human heart.

Tom knew it before he even reached out to the envelope once more. But that didn’t stop the disgust, the shock but most of all the  _confusion_ from rising up within the depths of his soul when he pulled out the little plastic card from the envelope.

It was Draco Malfoy’s ID and in the box was one of Draco Malfoy’s eyes, and his heart cut out with such delicate precision that it sickened Tom.


	2. I'm Having Fun, Don't Put Me Down

**Bulletproof**

Chapter 2

_**'I'm Having Fun, Don't Put Me Down'** _

The police couldn’t find the sender.

Well, of course not – it didn’t come as a surprise even if the newspapers were full of outrage. The only thing those donut eating bastards were capable of was giving parking tickets to people who already had no dime to spare.

Time passed and it was a week later when Tom found himself staring at his own notes in the dim light coming from the lamp on his desk. He was at home, safe and sound, the only audible noise in the house the occasional rustle of paper and the steady hum of the fridge downstairs. Tom was alone and he preferred it that way. People only distracted him, and none of them made it worthwhile.

Tom’s been doing his own thinking about the package too – he couldn’t let it go but that wasn’t that strange, to be honest, when someone had been murdered for him. It would’ve been odd if he had been able to shrug it off like nothing even if Draco Malfoy held no significance to him.

Tom was no detective, had never even held the slightest interest in becoming one yet he already felt like he could achieve more on his own than he could with the help of others. People were unreliable and everyone had a hidden agenda. Who knew what would happen when Tom would actually start putting faith into anyone.

Tom snorted at his own musings. Trusting others, what a stupid thing to do.

The only person Tom would ever love was himself.

Tom ran a hand through his hair, annoyed at himself for allowing his thoughts to wander off to less important matters. No one should really matter to him.

But Harrison did.

If Tom ought to believe his note, the sender’s name was Harrison and he had intended Tom to eat these things. Not only that, but Harrison had rather morbid feelings toward Tom.

The kind of feelings that took lives.

Tom was uncertain if that was Harrison’s real name, because it would’ve been rather stupid to just put a real name on a note that accompanied the organs he had just carved out of someone’s body. But then again, the police hadn’t caught him, and how many Harrison’s could possibly live in Little Hangleton? Tom had never met a Harrison now that he thought of it…

The significance to the eye and heart weren’t difficult to figure out, not for Tom. The heart would’ve symbolized Harrison’s – let’s just assume that was his real name - love for Tom. The eye could’ve been an addition to Harrison’s comment of wanting to see Tom soon.

And even if the note was so easy to figure out for someone with the intelligence Tom possessed, nothing so obvious and simple had confused Tom this greatly. Now that he thought of it, he had never actually actively been confused about something before.

For it were not the actual words that confused Tom, it was the way Harrison had spoken like Tom had died in front of him. Obviously Harrison believed that he loved Tom. So had he become jealous of Draco? If so, then Tom was being watched. The thought didn’t weigh well on Tom’s mind.

Tom scowled and pulled out Harrison’s note, his fingertips smoothing out the wrinkles on the paper. Tom hadn’t handed it over to the police because… Why, again? Tom could not tell but something inside of him had been reluctant to let go of it and since Tom’s intuition usually never mislead him, he had refrained from doing so.

He placed it next to his notebook and studied Harrison’s handwriting. It was still the same – it was still that sloppy scrawl, so unlike Tom’s who had been forced to study calligraphy when he’d been younger. Having been raised to be a perfectionist made it hard for Tom to understand why anyone would be able to settle for conveying such personal, no matter how disturbing, thoughts in this way. Tom would’ve opted to type if his handwriting had looked like this.

So this could mean a couple of things. One – Harrison couldn’t operate computers, which was highly unlikely but possible. Not everyone could access a computer, let alone learn how to use one, though current society most definitely forced one into learning how to do so with the way everything became digital nowadays.

Perhaps Harrison was poor?

Tom mulled this option over. No, this didn't add up. With the way he had carved out the heart with precision he must have experience in the medical field - that meant education, so Harrison was not poor or stupid. The words he had used certainly were not ones common folk used conversationally.

Option two, then – Harrison was in a hurry. He could’ve added this letter as an afterthought while he was on his way. This was more plausible though it wouldn't make sense for someone to take the time to plan this out only to add something on the last minute. Tom's brows furrowed.

Three?

Tom paused and leaned back.

No, three wasn’t even a good option. The delicate precision of how Harrison had cut out the heart and eye proved the exact opposite.

But could it be that Harrison was a messy person? Normally Tom would say that Harrison was young, but then his words... They just weren’t words that anyone used, nowadays, especially not young people.

And then there was Harrison stating that Tom was in a weakened state… Tom didn’t have any friends, he didn’t need any. Even if he were weakened he would never tell anyone.

The lights flickered once, twice, and then completely went off. Tom cursed under his breath and was about to get up when his cellphone started ringing.

Tom’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. There was no caller ID.

‘Hello,’ he drawled. Tom reminded himself there was a generator in the basement given the fact that this wasn’t the first and wouldn’t be the last time the power shut off. When Tom looked outside, however, the streetlights were still on and that made him scowl. He always paid his electricity bills on time, they just couldn’t cut him off like that.

Tom paused when he caught sight of the male standing right underneath a flickering streetlight, however, and a strange feeling crept upon Tom.

‘Hello?’ Tom demanded. He could hear nothing but breathing on the other side of the line. ‘If this is some kind of joke -’

‘ _Voldemort_.’

‘Excuse you?’ Tom instantly snapped. The word was foreign and Tom didn’t particularly like the male’s tone. His eyes narrowed as he tried to see the man’s face outside, but it was too dark, and he was wearing a hood over his head. The shadows hid his features perfectly.

‘It’s me, Voldemort. Harrison.’

Tom paused and perhaps for the first time in his life, he did not know what to say. The voice sounded young, the figure under the streetlight not very large... Tom vaguely mused to himself that option three wasn’t that ridiculous after all and it instantly told him what he was dealing with. An insane, young man who apparently had illicit feelings for him.

Great. Just what he needed.

Tom had a sinking feeling in his stomach when he stared at the male in the distance. He’s had to deal with stalkers before, but never murderers… His hand had tightened around his phone to the point where his knuckles were turning white and his lips pressed in a firm line.

‘I’ve come for you.’

‘I’m going to call the police,’ Tom warned. Harrison chuckled and Tom wished that the sound wasn’t that pleasant, but it echoed in his mind, and it made Tom’s mouth feel very dry. He thought he could see his teeth glimmering in the darkness even from this distance. There was something wrong with the male’s face. ‘I can see you right across the street – you will never be able to get away in time when I call them. They'll find you and you'll rot away in a prison cell for the rest of your miserable life.’

Harrison cooed. ‘No, you will not. We both know you will not.’

Why was his heart beating so fast? Hadn’t he earlier decided that he was not afraid of Harrison? This feeling... He could feel his lips tremble, grounded by something very odd. Though he was most certain that he didn't actually know the voice, he somehow  _recognized_ it. An icy hand wrapped around his heart and he vaguely thought of green eyes.

‘What do you want from me?’ He then softly asked when he managed to calm himself.

‘Oh, I want a whole lot of you, Voldemort.’

‘My name isn’t Voldemort,’ Tom brought out. That was all he could say, because he felt himself becoming angry, and he did not like where this was heading to. Tom was always in control, so why did it feel like this time, Harrison was the one who was calling the shots?

‘No, they call you by a different name in this life,’ Harrison agreed in a condescending tone, dragging out the words, as if he was tasting them on his tongue. The streetlight flickered above his head again and Tom almost obsessively kept staring. He wouldn’t lose sight of the boy. He couldn’t. ‘Fine, I will indulge you. I will call you Thomas.’

‘My name isn’t -’

‘Do you remember what you used to call me? You used to call me Harry. It’s a pity you didn’t reply to my note. It’s alright, I understand. You seem to be distraught,’ Harry said, sounding so sweet, so young. It infuriated Tom beyond measure. No criminal should be able to sound so pleasant, that should be a crime in itself.

‘I am not -’

‘I will give you some time, Thomas. But I will find you soon. It’s been far too long, my love. If you tell anyone, I will kill them and ship their limbs to you. And then I’ll come for you.’Before Tom had the time to reply, Harry hung up. The streetlight the figure had been standing under flickered again.

He was gone then, and Tom’s lights went back on.


	3. Never Let You Sweep Me Off My Feet

  **Bulletproof**

 

Chapter 3

_**'I'll Never Let You Sweep Me Off My Feet'** _

Tom could not for the life of him comprehend how he had gotten himself in a situation like this.

Was it a crazy boy who he used to have a one night stand with? Tom’s had admirers before, even had to get restraining orders for a couple of ones because they were convinced of the idea that Tom was _it_ for them. He wasn’t. He wasn’t ‘the one’ for anyone.

No matter how Tom sought within himself, he couldn’t remember having laid eyes on this boy before.

_Boy_.

That was what this person was, wasn’t he? He was a  _boy_ who cut out hearts and eyes and brutally murdered people to prove his point.

Having lived for so long locked inside of his own mind in utter isolation toward the world outside even if he physically participated in life every day, Tom had taught himself to remember everything. Names, faces, phone numbers, appointments, every detail. He  _knew_ he had never laid eyes on this person before so then why did he feel like he somehow had?

Harry _._

The name kept repeating itself in Tom’s mind and it was driving him mad with anger and frustration. Things always had to make sense to Tom, one way or another. He was obsessive with making things work but Harry seemed to be obsessively opposed to the typical.

Maybe Tom was overanalyzing.

Harry didn’t call anymore and Tom both hated and appreciated this fact. He fell into his old routine of waking up, getting to work, going home and reading before going to bed again and for a while, things seemed normal. He still woke up in the middle of the night, bathed in sweat, the usual.

But the knowledge that everything couldn’t be more wrong was haunting Tom and it was making him paranoid.

When was he being watched? How much control could Harry exile over him? Was Harry stronger than him, did he have connections with people who could shoot Tom? For someone who had lived life as a God these past years Tom had never felt so human before, confronted with his own mortality.

Harry had killed before and even if Tom was no man who feared easily, the only thing he feared in this world was death. That was the only thing Harry could hold against him.

The logical part of Tom told him that Harry did not seek to kill him. Besides, he had seen how short Harry was. Tom could handle him when it came to a physical fight. So then what was it about this whole situation that made him so… Unlike himself? Tom felt like his skin somehow didn’t fit to house his mind anymore, his skull seemed to be pressing down on his brain, numbing his ability to think properly. If he knew what to expect, if Tom knew all the facts, then he could come up with plans and then he would be able to move forward.

Now he was stuck waiting for Harry’s next move.

Tom was intelligent and he could handle this. It was the waiting that made Tom anxious and irritable, snapping at his employees. He had fired good men this week over small insignificant things.

If he kept it up like this he really wouldn’t have anyone left.

Tom inclined his head politely at his father before bending down to embrace his mother, giving his coat to a nearby servant and allowing his mother to take his arm and guide him to the living room. The night hadn’t even begun and Tom was already bored out of his skull.

‘Oh darling, I am so glad you’re here,’ his mother said with a happy tone in her voice. Tom glanced down at her and managed a tight smile. Those extensions made her hair appear thicker and she did have surgery for her eyes, but her unappealing appearance still did not match her soul. ‘You’re early, sit yourself down in the living room while I go over the guest list with your father, alright?’

‘Naturally, mother,’ Tom said. Merope had always played both roles, both mother and father, to him. Tom’s father was a cold man and perhaps that was because his only son was gay and the Riddles would not have a heir. Tom did not care enough to analyze the entire situation.

Merope looked like she wanted to say anything else, but eventually she decided against it and pressed another kiss against Tom’s cheek.

‘I’ll tell Dobby to fetch you a drink,’ she promised Tom. Tom hummed and sat down in his father’s arm chair, glancing at his mother.

‘I am fine, mother. Honestly.’

Merope pressed her lips together and frowned. ‘It’s just that you appear so distant ever since you received that dreadful-’

‘You heard him, Merope. Come.’

Merope’s eyes widened as she looked Thomas in the eye, and Tom fought the need to roll his eyes at his father.

‘Yes dear,’ Merope instantly said demurely, her eyes instantly glued to the floor. Seeing his mother like this angered and disgusted Tom at the same time. She was royalty, even if she didn’t look the part. She was not meant to grovel at her husband’s feet.

‘Tom,’ Thomas acknowledged Tom. Tom nodded his head at his father again.

‘Father,’ he said politely. He watched as Thomas’ eyes lingered on him, that underlying hatred between them almost palpable in the air. Merope either didn’t notice or she didn’t want to make the situation worse. Tom resented her weakness.

His parents finally left after a couple of awkward seconds that would’ve made Tom feel uncomfortable if he had been any less of a man, and after Dobby came in with a glass of wine, Tom was alone once more.

Tom swirled his wine in his glass, frowning to himself as his mind drifted off to Harry again. Another thing that bothered Tom was the fact that Harry had somehow messed with his electricity… Had Tom been a superstitious person, he would’ve thought something supernatural was happening.

Again, Tom snorted at his own musings.

Life wasn’t that complicated and it never should be either, especially not when your name was Tom Riddle. Everything passes and this would, too. Tom not being infinite was still debatable.

Tom took another sip of his wine and studied his parent’s living room. This was the place where he had grown up, yet he couldn’t feel more emotionally detached to the place. It could burn down to the ground and he still wouldn’t give a damn.

‘Thy fate is the fate of all, into life some rain must fall,’ Tom murmured absentmindedly to himself, remembering a poem he had read when he was just a boy himself as he took in his father’s richly filled bookstand. He knew from experience that that was only a small part of his father’s extensive collection of books. Tom was snapped out of his thoughts from a soft noise coming from the window, and when he looked up, he saw… Tom nearly snapped his wine glass in his hands.

He saw a pair of eyes. Wide, bright yellow eyes. When Tom rose and blinked the eyes were gone but it did not keep Tom from walking over to the window, opening it, inhaling fresh air and trying to take in anything different in the garden.

No one was there.

Leaning a bit further out of the window and turning his head to both the right and the left, all he saw were shadows and tall trees in the distance, the lush green lawn right in front of him with still the same old statues adorning it.

It was still the same, yet the air seemed to have changed completely. The tree branches looked like long fingers beckoning him closer, the statues looked almost demonic, like they were glaring at him with gleaming eyes and the lush lawn looked like a sea of pus. The entire garden didn’t even smell of clean grass anymore.

It smelt of death.

Face twisting up in disgust, Tom closed the window and, as an afterthought, closed the curtain too.

But even so, he could not shake the feeling of being watched.

* * *

The night passed dreadfully slow.

Merope had raised her son to be charming and polite whenever he could, and under her close scrutiny Tom had no choice but answer his relatives’ questions and smile at whatever ridiculous joke they tried to crack. What Merope did not know, was that the only reason Tom bothered to show his face at these dinner parties was because he had full intentions of inheriting his family’s riches. On the estate of his grandparents he would be able to build a hotel, and double his profits.

It was 11 pm when Tom finally had the chance to sneak out and he was only on his third glass of wine (he may dislike his relatives, but they weren’t going to turn him into an alcoholic) when he stood on the balcony connected to his old bedroom, the cold wind ruffling his hair.

Despite it being one of the many dull dinner parties he had attended, this one felt different somehow. Was it because Tom’s mind was full with Harry or because what he had perceived earlier this evening? He glanced down at the garden to reassure himself that the garden was still the same and indeed nothing was out there. No monsters, no foul scents. The same lush wealth he had grown accustomed to and that accompanied bearing the Riddle family name.

_Name… Voldemort…_

In a way, Voldemort had a pleasant ring to it, didn’t it? Tom narrowed his eyes and then ran his hand through his hair, remembering those bright yellow eyes. It was probably an owl, his parents lived near the woods after all… Standing here, overhearing all the noise of the party downstairs, Tom could understand why people would like to keep from associating themselves with relatives. Bearing the Riddle name came with great money, but it came with shame as well. Shame for being related to such superficial, dimwitted people who thought themselves to be better than the middle-class yet behaved themselves like savage little beasts in their need for grandure.

Tom closed his eyes and downed his wine.

No use crying over spilt milk. He was above that and it didn’t matter. He had proved to himself and them that he was actually intelligent and worth something and he would continue doing so. He went back downstairs and faked another smile.

Harry gazed at him through the window.

* * *

_‘Will it hurt?’_

_Voldemort paused, his fangs so very close to puncturing that porcelain skin. His red eyes gazed right back into the wide, innocent green ones in front of him and he tried to fight off his initial irritation at the stupid question._

_‘Dying, I mean,’ the boy added as though Voldemort was dimwitted. He was shaking like a leaf, his round face looking so youthful when he was willing to cling onto every word Voldemort would utter. Voldemort reminded himself that the boy was brave, he had the heart of a lion, and he memorized how strong the boy had been as of late. No one had resisted Voldemort before…_

_‘It is quicker than falling asleep, my child,’ Voldemort promised him. It was a lie and they both knew it. Nothing ached more than being sucked dry of your life essence, to have poison take its place and rearrange things in your body. It felt like being set on fire, internally._

_Voldemort studied the boy’s nude skin for a moment. His heart was beating so fast, his eyes so wild and alive and Harry would never look like this again. This was the last part of the mating ritual. After that, Harry would be his. Eternally._

_And his heart would be still, just like Voldemort’s had been for centuries._

_‘And you’ll stick with me?’ Harry asked almost childishly. He would stay like that, Voldemort mused. He’d be 18 forever, until the end of the world, and beyond that. He would not age, would not die, would not fall ill._

_‘Always,’ Voldemort agreed. He needed someone to match his powers, someone who could be his worst enemy and his closest friend. He had known it since the moment he had laid eyes on the boy._

_This was his prophesied soulmate. The only one with the power to kill and complete him._

_Harry nodded tightly, and it was all the confirmation Voldemort needed._

_He sunk his teeth into Harry’s neck and Harry screamed._  

* * *

Tom shot up with a gasp and panted, blinking furiously in the darkness while trying to calm his racing heart down. Kicking the sheets off his body, he stumbled his way over to the bathroom, sunk through his knees in front of the toilet seat and started vomiting.

The taste of it was the first thing that threw Tom off. It wasn't bitter or sour the way it was supposed to be - it felt as though he had shoved a handful of pennies in his mouth. He rubbed at his mouth and coughed, spitting out whatever was left in his mouth, and then he went ahead to rinse his mouth.

He paused when he looked at his hand and saw the blood on it. When he looked into the mirror there was blood smudged on his chin and lips too.


	4. I Won't Let You Win Again

**Bulletproof**

Chapter 4

_**'I Won't Let You Win Again'** _

‘So… Mister Riddle, was it?’

Doctor Weasley looked over Tom’s charts when he walked back into the room and hummed to himself, pausing to stand at Tom’s bedside to study him for a moment.

Weasley looked like a typical family man, the top of his head ablaze with bright ginger hair with grey streaks in between. It was late, undoubtedly he was dying for his shift to end so he could go home to his family, sleep for a few hours before another day would start. What a dreadful way to spend one's life.

Tom could never be a doctor. He just couldn't understand why anyone would want to expose themselves to disease and weakness willingly.

Tom glanced up and nodded his head, the taste of blood still in his mouth even after he had two glasses of water. He couldn't shake the images in his head, couldn't let go of Harry and his green eyes and innocence, the tone of his voice. The childlike awe.

It couldn't have been the same Harrison that was bothering him now. Not in a million years.

_This Harry had been sweet, young..._

As soon as Tom noticed he had thrown up blood he had rushed to the hospital. Something was wrong with him on the inside and Tom didn't know what it was, but it was driving him mad. He just knew it.

‘Everything seems to be in order, sir. You’re free to go.’

The mere thought of having some disease that could cost him his life had sent him in a frenzy – there was nothing Tom feared more than death. With this insane killer stalking him, these dreams and the odd way he had been feeling lately he didn't dare to take any risks. Any grown man would be worried and even though Tom did not like comparing himself to the masses or acknowledging weakness, if he had to see a doctor then he would never hesitate. He would  _always_  put his own health first.

A mind as brilliant as Tom's couldn't possibly perish due to something as simple as illness.

They had ran quick blood tests, looked inside his mouth. Listened to what Tom had to say about the matter - how he had been asleep and then woke up and just threw up, randomly. And that he then had noticed the blood.

To hear this fool say nothing was wrong with Tom when Tom so very clearly felt that something  _was_ wrong with him was an absolute outrage.

‘What do you mean, _everything is in order_?’ he demanded, ‘I was vomiting  _blood-_ ’

‘It appears, mister Riddle, that you have vomited so forcefully that you caused a tear in the smaller blood vessels. This isn’t something that we can treat, this is something that has to heal on its own. I would recommend drinking a lot of water and trying to lay off crisps.' Weasley seemed indeed tired and he squeezed the bridge of his nose as though speaking to Tom gave him a headache. It only served to anger Tom even further.

‘A  _tear_?’ Tom asked incredulously, ‘The amount of blood I lost tonight cannot possibly be healthy!’

It hadn't been just a few drops. It had been so much, way too much to possibly be healthy or normal, so much that even now he still tasted it in the back of his mouth...

‘You are perfectly healthy, sir,’ doctor Weasley insisted. His smile was a bit strained. ‘You are welcome to make an appointment if you desire to have a second opinion, but for now I must ask you to leave so I can treat other patients.’

‘I will _sue_ you,’ Tom hissed. Doctor Weasley simply nodded his head as Tom snatched his keys and walked off, swearing to himself that he would keep to that threat.

A small _tear_. Even a gaping wound wouldn’t release so much blood all at once, Tom thought to himself.

It was curious, however… He dreamt of drinking blood, and he woke up throwing up blood… 

Tom shook his head to himself and got into his car. The sun was rising and he would take the day off today and sleep. This was all getting way too ridiculous.

When Tom pulled up into his own driveway, he glanced at the streetlight Harry had stood under not too long ago and allowed his thoughts to wander.

Obviously his mind had been invaded by Harry. The possibility of Harry being an old bedpartner had led to make his mind come up with the insane image of mating… and the heart and eye had obviously made Tom’s mind think of cannibalism.

_Yet…_

Tom frowned and got out of his car, keys jingling in his spidery fingers.

He slept his day away.

* * *

He didn't have a lot of office work to catch up with that evening, just some files that he had to overlook and read through for his upcoming meetings. His secretary had prepared everything for him and he mentally applauded himself for finally finding a gem between all those rotten apples. Not only had she prepared all the information about the meeting itself, she had also made a list of those attending and a short list of each of their interests, should Tom be forced into small talk.

He scrolled through the pdf documents, growing tired of having stared at the screen for so long. He hadn't vomited again and he had made sure to drink plenty of water like he had been instructed to. He was certain that if he had a tear somewhere in his throat, he should feel sore whenever he swallowed, but there was nothing. He felt absolutely nothing.

Well, he felt cheated by the doctor. That was one thing.

A tapping noise made Tom glance up instinctively, but he knew the room was empty and quiet. Tom liked silence while he worked, he could only enjoy a good classical piece of music when he was relaxing and emptying his mind of thoughts, musings. Rubbing his temples and taking another sip of water, he could feel his eyebrows twitching and twisting together in a dark scowl when the noise became more persistent, annoying.

The tapping gradually turned into something else, something that nearly hurt Tom’s ears to listen to and he abruptly stood up with a snarl on his face, but he faltered when his eyes landed on the window.

Harry was standing outside right across the street next to that damn streetlight again, and the window was slowly cracking without anything to damage it. Whenever the streetlight flickered Harrison came to stand closer to Tom’s house. He was so fast that Tom didn’t even see him moving.

Tom tightened his grip on his glass of water when Harrison was suddenly standing in front of his window, the light of a passing car illuminating his features. He was smirking – his long fangs exposed, his eyes wide and yellow and his skin ghastly pale. It was a sheer animalistic sight and quite possibly, one of the most disturbing things he had ever seen.

He felt his insides twist and he reached behind himself for the sharp silver letter opener he had laying around on his desk, very willing to kill or maim the little bastard at the least thing he would do to provoke Tom. His window had cracked from the top left corner all the way down to the bottom right corner, and little cracks were spreading like spiderwebs.

Harrison placed a hand over the damaged glass and purred. ‘Why do you look so frightened, my love?’

Though he stood outside Tom could hear him clearly. This was the first time he was seeing Harry up close but just as it had been with his voice, Tom felt it was familiar all the same. The eyes weren't supposed to be this color though... What was  _wrong_ with them? And with his teeth?

What was wrong with  _Harry_?

‘You – what are you?’ Tom started. Harrison’s breath fogged up the window but he wasn’t trying to enter the house. He was just standing there, staring in his eerie way with his eerie words. If Tom had been any less of the man he was he actually would've been scared. These were all tactics, little games that Harrison was playing with him. He wasn't going to show fear to someone who barely reached his shoulders. He wouldn't even show fear if Harrison had been twice his size.

His crazy eyes and fangs be damned.

‘Why won’t you let me in so we can have a talk?’ Harrison breathed. Tom wondered to himself why Harrison wasn’t letting himself in, hadn’t he somehow cut off Tom’s power too? The glass had a misty tint to it and when Tom laid his hand on top of it he winced at the temperature. It was frozen solid.

This was crazy and impossible. Somehow he was being tricked, of this Tom was convinced. Harry must have some sort of way of freezing his window, must have played with the light and shadows to make himself appear so very fast. His eyes? Contacts, Tom told himself. The fangs could be fake. It would be madness to think that any of this had another explanation.

_But it didn't explain why Tom had dreamed of Harry's face before seeing it._

Tom forced himself to step backwards and get some distance between the both of them, ignoring that thing inside of him that howled and sneered at him for doing so. His eyes lingered on the boy’s face for a bit longer to study him. Looking at him was like staring into the sun - overwhelming, sharp in a way that almost hurt.

‘Open the window for me,’ Harrison demanded with a voice as cold as his hands. Tom tore his eyes off Harrison’s, finding it easier to resist him this way. Chills ran down his spine when Harrison ran his nails over his window frames. The sound the act produced was obnoxious, painful to Tom’s ears.  ‘Voldemort, you are not yourself. Listen to me, Harry. Let me take care of you.’

‘My name is not Voldemort,’ Tom insisted. He turned his back to Harrison and Harrison growled in frustration like the predator he was. It was in that moment that Tom noted that whomever this Harrison - Harry - had mistaken Tom with, Harry would do anything for this person. It was dangerous to have a psychopath hate you, but it was even more dangerous to have one love you... Tom's mind raced, trying to find a way to use this to his advantage.

He couldn't understand how he of all people had been mistaken for someone else. No one was half as brilliant as Tom himself was. No one was as charming or as handsome as he was. Tom was irreplaceable, infinite.

Tom didn't like being confused.

‘Tom,’ Harry sighed finally. Tom turned his head and the relaxed look on Harry’s face looked so out of place. It was like a look of hunger was meant to be etched onto Harry’s darling face.

‘What do you want from me?’ Tom asked. ‘Money? Because I -’

Harry slammed a hand down onto the glass and it cracked even further, little randomly shaped lines forming around his fist even though the surface was supposed to be thick. His eyes appeared murderous again, a snarl playing on his lips. Did he… Were those fangs _growing_?

‘I have plenty of money myself,' Harry hissed, ‘I want  _you_.’

‘ _Me_?’ Tom asked with an incredulous tone in his voice. He suddenly felt like laughing. Was this the boy he had worried his head over these past days?

‘I will stop at nothing, Thomas. If you don’t let me in then I’ll find a way to let myself in.’

‘If you’re so powerful, why haven’t you already?' Tom was bluffing. He had to remind himself to be more careful even though for just a second he found it hard to take this boy serious. After a brief moment of silence, Harry chuckled softly.

‘You know I can’t enter people’s houses without permission.’

‘Why?’ Tom questioned. The more Harry spoke, the more everything didn't make sense anymore. He had a killer in front of himself who somehow couldn't bring himself to break into houses.

‘I’ll explain it to you once you let me in.'

‘You must think me insane if you actually expect me to let you in.'

‘All interesting people are mad.'

‘You said you want me,’ Tom retorted, dragging his finger slowly over the letter opener as if to reassure himself. ‘You said that you grieved over me and that I am in a weakened state. Care to explain?’

‘It comes with a price,’ Harry reminded him. At least he was smart about that - it would disappoint Tom if he would just answer whichever question would be thrown at him. ‘Information is not cheap, and knowledge is priceless.’

It sounded like something Tom would say, and he wasn’t that shocked to find himself agreeing silently even if negotiating with a lunatic was madness itself.

‘And what is your price?’

Harry considered Tom for a moment, licking his lips, running his tongue over his fangs. Harry’s eyes were the same shade of yellow he had seen earlier at his parents' manor, Tom noted. Harry had been watching Tom there after all. The thought sickened him. ‘I want many things of you, who is to say I will only settle for one thing?’

‘Because you said you wanted to take care of me, and harming me is not a part of that,’ Tom stated. ‘You love me.’

‘You once told me that love is just a lighter shade of obsession,’ Harry quoted, ‘sometimes things break.’

‘But given your knowledge of the human anatomy, something tells me that I am in capable hands.’ Tom was good with words and he was good in getting what he wanted. He knew this, everyone knew this. Eventually he'd convince Harry to turn himself in, make him believe that their love was simply not to be, but first he wanted to take him apart and understand him. Dissect him like the little animal he was.

Harry narrowed his eyes.

‘Fine,’ he finally sighed, ‘one kiss.’

‘No,’ Tom instantly disagreed. ‘None of that.’

‘Why? You’ve done worse things to me.’

‘I will not feed your obsession,’ Tom decided. Harry wanted to come in but couldn’t without permission… Harry wanted to touch Tom but Tom would not let him… There had to be a way… ‘I will grant you entrance to my office. I do not want to see you anywhere else,’ he then offered. He would double security and have more camera's installed, it was brilliant. He'd trick Harry and then have the police take the little shit away and lock him up for the rest of his miserable life.

Harry’s eyes widened and Tom clarified, ‘And I only permit it during day time.’

‘I can’t go out when the sun shines.' At this, Tom did bark out a laugh. There was a hysterical thought of _vampire_ in the back of Tom's head but he pushed it away instantly because those creatures were stuck within the confines of Western folklore, released upon current pop culture and romanticized to the max. They weren't real.

‘Your loss. This is my one and only offer, in trade for you to answer all of my questions.’

It was an offer Harry didn't appear keen on accepting. For a moment Tom was certain that he wouldn't - then there was a slump in his shoulders.

‘I'll take it.’

‘No touching,’ Tom reminded him. ‘I will have security kick you out if you even think about it.’

This time it was Harry's turn to laugh. The sound of it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

‘Oh darling. You speak like any human being would be able to hold me down.’ Harry pressed his lips against the sharp edges of the windows and he licked over the shattered glass, blood spreading over it as his skin broke. His tongue was resorted to nothing but a bloody chunk of flesh in his mouth, shatters in his mouth. Tom couldn't help but feel sickened by the sight of it but it seemed to please Harry because he hummed happily when he was done, licking his lips. 'We have a deal.'


End file.
